


Too Beautiful

by babyvamp



Series: He Is We Inspired [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Violence, F/M, He is we, Mild Blood, Mild Gore, Mild Language, Song Inspired, Song Lyrics, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 11:41:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10661850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babyvamp/pseuds/babyvamp
Summary: After finding the reader, beaten by her boyfriend, on the side of the road, Dean takes her back to the bunker. But when the reader decides she has to go back , can Dean convince her to stay?





	Too Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> This belongs to a collection of fics I'm working on that are inspired by songs from the group He Is We. To hear the song that inspired this fic, please follow the link :) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JgBbYwaXUXw
> 
> This fic does have some fairly detailed descriptions of domestic abuse, so please use your best judgement if you may be triggered.
> 
> This is my very first publicly shared fic, so please let me know what you think! Any feedback helps :)

     You knew it was going to be a rough night the second he stepped through the door. You were in the kitchen hurriedly trying to put the finishing touches on that night's dinner when you heard Eddie slam the front door behind him, and stomp his heavy, steel-toed feet into the kitchen. You took one look at the baleful glint in his puffy, bloodshot eyes, and your suspicions were confirmed- definitely a rough night. You shrank away into the counter- practically melding with the cool, grungy tile- as Eddie stormed past you to the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of gin, the stench of alcohol wafting after him.  
     “Welcome home, Darlin’,” you managed to stutter, plastering a weak smile on your face, “I hope you’re hungry, dinner’s just about ready.” Eddie said nothing, merely grunting as he finished taking a long swig from the bottle, and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. You stood there, uncertain if you should move or not, until he barked,  
     “Well, what the hell are you waiting for, huh? Fix my damn plate!” With his last word, Eddie slammed the bottle down on the tiny kitchen table, and fixed you with a menacing stare as he sat down.  
     “Yes Dear, of course,” you scurried over to the dingy, peeling cabinet, and pulled out two plates, quickly filling them with meatloaf and vegetables. You gingerly set Eddie’s plate in front of him, trying to control the trembling in your hands. You took your plate to your place across the table, eyeing him warily. Judging by the redness of his face and the slight slur in his voice, Eddie had started drinking long before he came home. That wasn’t a good sign. Nights like this, Eddie was particularly… touchy; he’d jump at any reason to start a fight. You looked down at your hands in your lap, the trail of bruises already on your wrist just beginning to fade. You could still picture the look in his eye that night as you traced the pattern lightly with your fingers- malice, with a tinge of something you could have sworn was… amusement. You shuddered at the memory, and pulled the sleeve of your sweater down over your wrist. You peered at Eddie over the table just as he looked up at you.  
     “What the fuck do you want?” he snapped.  
     “Nothing, Darlin’, I was just wondering how your day was,” you replied, the quiver in your voice obvious. Eddie laughed gruffly, the tell-tale sound of anger rising in his throat.  
     “You wanna know how my day was, huh?” he rose from his chair and you froze, hoping his next step wasn’t towards you. You allowed yourself to exhale as he moved toward the sink instead. “I’ll tell you how my day was, Y/N. It was shit. Shit, shit, shit. I had a shit day at my shit job, and then had to come home to this shit house and this shit meal, and then you’re just gonna fuckin’ sit there and ask these stupid fucking questions and make it all worse!” He smashed his fist on the counter, making you jump.  
    “I’m sorry, Eddie,” you stuttered, jumping to your feet, and approaching him carefully, reaching for the dish in his trembling hand. “Why don’t you just let me take care of this, and you just relax. Just go and fix yourself another drink, alright?”  
    “No!” Eddie yanked the plate from your grasp and angrily smashed it on the ground. Your heart leapt into your throat, and your entire body tensed. “You don’t get to tell me what to do!” he shouted. He looked down at the plate on the ground- the shards scattered like a flock of birds startled by a child- and he grew seemingly calm. He laughed, a crazed sound that started deep in his throat and grew louder as he raked his fingers through his messy hair. “Look what you made me do, you stupid bitch. Look what you made me do!” he yelled, grabbing a fistful of your hair and forcing you to kneel directly onto the broken porcelain. You screamed in pain as each piece entered your skin, tears streaming down your face as Eddie pushed you further down onto your bleeding knees. He pulled your head back to look at you, causing you to yelp, fixing you with a vindictive stare. “Come on, now don’t look at me like that, Y/N. You know this was your fault. I do so much for you- everything for you- and you just gotta fuck it all up, don’t you? Because that’s all you do. You just fuck shit up for everybody. Don’t you? Don’t you!?” he yanked you back up to your feet as you nodded in agreement, unable to speak through your sobs. “Say it, say it!”  
     “All I do is fuck up, Eddie. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Your words were barely discernable as you wailed, desperate to get away from him.  
     “You bet your ass you should be sorry, you stupid slut!” Eddie reeled his hand back and slapped you- hard- across the face. You could feel blood trickling down your face from where his nails scratched your cheek. You staggered back, bumping into the table as you cradled the side of your face.  
     “I’m sorry Eddie, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, just please stop,” you blubbered. Your cries went unnoticed however, as Eddie advanced again.  
     “Where the fuck do you think you’re going? Trying to get away from me? Think you’re gonna leave me, bitch?”  
     “No Eddie of course not, I would never leave you. I’m so-” your words were cut short, as Eddie grabbed you by the waist, digging his fingers in, and hurled you against the counter; your ribs connected with the tile with a sickening crack. Pain shot all throughout your right side and you screamed, sinking to the floor. Eddie stood over your crumpled form, watching with a twinkle of unadulterated delight in his eyes.  
     “You’ll never leave me, Angel. See, no one else would ever want your sorry ass. You’d have nowhere else to go,” You looked up at him, your vision blurred by tears and pain that threatened to render your unconscious. You lifted your head to protest as you saw Eddie raise his fist again, and then everything went black.

* * *

 

     You were awakened by a searing pain throughout your body. You tried to assess where the pain was coming from- or rather, where it _wasn't coming from-_  and realized Eddie didn’t stop after you had passed out. You tried to sit up, but an intense wave of pain and nausea washed over you, and black spots quickly encroached on your vision. Over the ringing in your ears, you could vaguely hear the sound of the TV mixed with Eddie’s snores, coming from the living room.  
     Once again, you tried getting up, but the pain in your head and your side kept you on the cold linoleum. You and Eddie had been together for years, and there had been so many incidents you had lost count, but none had been like this. You needed to get help. You steeled yourself and stood up, fighting against the dark spots that tried to overpower you. Slowly, you shuffled to the front door, and slipped soundlessly out.  
     The night air was frigid, but it felt good against your feverish, sweaty skin. You hadn’t checked the time when you came to, but you guessed it had to be two or three in the morning. The nearest hospital was miles away, certainly farther than you could make it on your own.For a second you thought about banging on a neighbor’s door, but they had all been listening to what went on in that house for years and never did a thing, and you didn’t think they were going to start now. So you decided to head for the main road, praying that somebody would be driving through.  
     You made it to the main road, the pain in your knees from the shifting pieces of porcelain making the pain nearly unbearable, but didn’t see a car in sight. Your despair and pain from your injuries was about to overcome you, when you saw the glint of headlights coming down the road. Desperation flooded your body with adrenaline and you made your way as fast as you could towards the car. The vehicle was fast approaching as you darted into the headlights, having the fleeting thought that even if it didn’t stop, at least your pain would end. However, the driver did stop just in time, and you saw a pair of luminescent green eyes staring alarmed at you through the windshield. Relief and exhaustion flooded through you as the man jumped out of the car and rushed to you.  
     “Son of a bitch, are you okay?” the man asked, quickly assessing your mangled state. Suddenly the fear and pain and anguish poured out of you, and you stumbled forward, sobbing. Luckily the man caught you as you started wailing.  
     “Eddie- my boyfriend- he- he got angry, he got so, so angry, and he- and just- it was my fault, it was all my fault!” you crumpled into the stranger’s chest, as he tried to make sense of your words.  
     “Listen, you need help okay?” he said, trying to sooth the crying woman in his arms. “I’m going to help you, alright? My brother is just a few miles away, and if you come with me, we can take care of you,” You tried to nod in response, but the action brought the darkess back, and this time, you weren’t able to fight it off. You felt your body go limp, and the last thing you saw were a pair of big green eyes looking down at you before everything faded away.

 

* * *

  
     Dean looked at the unconscious woman in the back of the Impala as he drove. She was beat up-bad- and from what he had been able able to make out through her sobs, it was all the work of some scumbag boyfriend. The glint of the moon reflected light on her face as he glanced at her in Baby’s rear view mirror. Sure she was beat up, covered in blood and bruises and scrapes, but he could tell that she was beautiful. Too beautiful to have suffered so much. But the blood caking her face brought his attention back to her injuries. He had absolutely no idea who or how hurt this woman was; he just hoped he could get her back to the bunker in time.

* * *

 

     Dean slumped further into his chair, staring at the ring of condensation his beer bottle had left on the library table. The woman, Y/N, had been slipping in and out of consciousness for two days now. 

     From what he and Sam had found, Y/N had a major concussion, a black eye, scratches on her face, six broken ribs, signs of internal bleeding, and what could only have been broken pieces of a dinner plate lodged in her knees that Dean didn’t even want to imagine how they had gotten there. And it was all because of Eddie, the scumbag boyfriend in question. It made Dean’s blood boil just thinking about it. With a frustrated grunt, he forced his chair back from the table, and began agitatedly pacing, glaring daggers at the floor.

    His eyes shot up when he heard Sam’s heavy footsteps enter the room. “So?” Dean looked at Sam expectantly.

    “I think she’s awake for good this time, but she definitely needs time to rest up,” Sam slunk into a chair opposite his pacing brother, rubbing the bridge of his nose, exhaustion and worry evident on his face.

    “Good. That’s good, I just- Jesus,” the last word leaving Dean’s lips as an incredulous whisper as he shoved his fingers through his dirty blond hair. He grew quiet. “The only people I’ve ever seen beat up that bad were hunters, Sammy. I mean, how- what kind of man lays his hands on a woman like that? The woman he’s supposed to love?” Dean flopped into a chair on the other side of the table from Sam, staring blankly at the dark-stained wood in front of him, like it somehow held the answers to all the injustices in the world.

    “I don’t know, man. But at least we can look after her now, right?”

    “Yeah,” Dean said stoically, taking another sip from the bottle in his hand, “Yeah we can.”

* * *

 

    He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t close his eyes without seeing your pale, blood covered face passed out in the backseat of the Impala; your torso, marred by garish purple and black bruises, more prevalent than your actual flesh. He couldn’t stop hearing the sounds of your screams as he and Sam dug shards of porcelain out of your knees, the tiny blue flowers on the plate looking so surreal coated in your blood- far too delicate and _normal_ to be at home in such a gruesome scene. 

    No, he wasn’t going to sleep at all. Dean threw back his covers and swung his legs out of bed, feeling the cool concrete of the bunker’s floor press against his tired feet. He pulled a t-shirt he had retrieved from the floor over his muscled chest, and before he had even made the conscious decision to do so, he found himself padding barefoot down the hallway to your room.

    The door was already ajar as Dean pushed himself silently into the darkened room. He sat down in the worn armchair next to your bed. The light from the hallway spilled in through the crack in the door, illuminating your face as Dean gazed upon you, once again wondering how you had come to be here. You had a kind face- even through the bruises and scrapes and butterfly sutures Dean could tell that. He reached out to brush a piece of hair from your forehead, unable to stop himself from allowing his fingers to linger on your skin, as he noted that some of the color was returning to your cheeks. Dean tensed as you stirred, quickly retracting his hand. Your eyes fluttered open, your big doe-eyed gaze settling on him. Dean looked down at his hands, glad that the shadows masked the involuntary blush blooming on his cheeks. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I, uh, just wanted to check up on you, in case you needed anything,” he stumbled over his words, which were gruffer than he had intended.

    “Thank you, Dean,” you said quietly, briefly locking eyes with him. Dean’s breath hitched in his chest. Though it had barely even been a whisper, you had never said his name before, and the sound of it tumbling off your pale lips made his heart race. He didn’t understand it, not one bit. After all, he barely knew you. Maybe it was just because he was the one who had found you, or because he recognized a kindred spirit in you- someone else who had had the shit kicked out of them by life. But whatever it was, he felt so connected to, and so protective of this woman, and he couldn’t fight it if he tried. Dean realized he had been staring. His tongue darted out between his lips as he looked away.

    “Yeah, uh, you’re welcome. So, you- you’re good, then?” he peered at you through his long lashes. Looking at you, Dean wanted to kick himself for asking such a stupid question. Your eyes looked sad and empty, less alive than it seemed they should be- like the life had been beaten out of them. Dean realized that was probably exactly what had happened, and it made his heart ache.

    “Tired,” you mumbled, turning your head away from him.

    “Oh, right. I’ll uh- I’ll leave you to it then.” He stood awkwardly for a moment, his body not wanting to leave your side. He was almost out the door when he heard your faint whisper.

    “Dean?” he turned around, “Thank you, again.” He nodded as he slipped out of the room. He glanced back at you to see you curl up into the fetal position. As he closed the door behind him, the last sliver of light from the hall reflected off the tears silently streaming down your face.

* * *

            You stared at the ceiling fan _whirring, whirring, whirring_ above you, unable to find it in yourself to anything more than lay there.

            A knock on the door was just enough to coax you out of bed, however. You had just stood up, wincing at the pain from your ribs when a shaggy head popped into the room. “Y/N? Oh good, you’re up!” A wide grin spread across Sam’s face when he saw you were out of bed for the first time in days. “Dean and I thought we’d make breakfast this morning, so if you’re hungry…”

            “Alright, thank you Sam, I’ll be there in a minute,” you mustered a weak smile. Sam nodded and gently shut the door behind him. As soon as you heard it click shut, the last semblance of a smile slipped off your face, and you let out a deep sigh.

            You had been with Sam and Dean about two weeks now; you had wanted to leave as soon you had been patched up so as not to be in the way, but the brothers wouldn’t have it. They were sweet- Sam with is big, goofy grin, was always so kind and welcoming, and Dean… You weren’t sure where to start with Dean. On the outside he was certainly much gruffer than Sam, more guarded. But when he was around you felt… safe. You thought of his big, piercing green eyes. Several times over the last few days you had caught his gaze on you while he kept watch over you, the look in his eyes making you feel something you hadn’t felt in years- almost like you were wanted. The thought of it nearly brought a smile to your face, but you quickly wiped it away. You were being ridiculous. Eddie was right.  No one would ever want you. You hugged your arms to your body, and whimpered at the pain in your side. You walked over to the full length mirror hanging at the opposite end of the room, and slowly rolled up the hem of your shirt. In the mirror you saw five branded fingers on your side amidst the swirling galaxy of purple and green bruises just starting to fade. You just stood there, staring, a sea of emotions welling inside you, begging to spill out. You felt it all, but you didn’t cry, just kept staring blankly at the marred skin in front of you.

            You heard a noise behind you and your eyes snapped up to see Dean’s reflection staring back at you from the doorway. You quickly pulled your shirt back down and turned around to face him. Dean’s face flushed a deep red, his attention fixed on his worn boots as he spoke.

            “I, uh, don’t know if Sam told you, but… we, um, we made breakfast,” he rubbed the back of his neck as he tentatively looked up at you. If you didn’t know any better, you almost would have said he looked nervous. The look made something stir in the pit of your stomach- something faint and warm, like a distant memory.

            “Yeah,” your eyes flicked away from his, “I just need to freshen up a bit first,”

            “Right,” Dean’s eyes snapped back down, and he cleared his throat, his voice taking back on its usual gruff tone, “I’ll just uh, see you down there then.” His eyes flickered back to yours for a moment as he turned to leave, and you felt yourself once again give a faint smile. Only this time, it wasn’t hard at all.

 


End file.
